


Thanatos

by Peasantlock



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: BoFA onwards centric, Gen, M/M, despite the fancy title not actually anything to do with greek mythology, ok maybe a slight reference to greek mythos but it's so teeny tiny it might as well not count
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-18 23:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1446157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peasantlock/pseuds/Peasantlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo has more magic trinkets than just the ring AU</p><p>or: the fic where i shamelessly do whatever I want</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Erebos

Around his neck there hung a small rock, given to him by his mother to keep and she’d said it was magic. Though all magic comes at a price and the rock was dim and deep purple almost black but it could grant a wish. When you made the wish, you paid the price and the stone would glow, when the wish was granted, it would dim again. But it had to be a special kind of wish, Belladonna had said, and when he’d asked, she’d said she hoped he never figure out what it was.

* * *

 

Bilbo rolled the uneven stone between his fingers, watching it purple like diluting fabric dye in the firelight. He was alone around it, the rest of the dwarves being busy in the throne room, the gold chamber. The thought made him palm the stone again, squeezing until the blunt edges hurt. He hadn’t thought about the legend behind it in years and had believed in it for even less but now he thought about it, with the armies of elves and men and soon, even orcs beating down the door, breathing down their necks, promising death. If he’d only kept the Arkenstone he would have perhaps been able to barter with that but he’d been naïve and given it to Thorin, seeing only once he’d had it in his grasp what a mistake that was. He thought about it and the more he did the more an idea began to form. A niggling voice in the back of his head asked him if he thought it was worth it, the prominent part of his heart piped up that it was with a surety that overruled all else. With a steeling breath, after all he wasn’t sure if it would work, he might’ve gotten it wrong or he might not either way it was daunting, he bartered with the object in his fist. He felt no change of temperature or buzzing of power, no change at all except maybe the change of atmosphere when the tension bled out of him. Slowly he opened his fist and lo, the stone was shining with an ethereal glow, changed from its dead state to look more like, well, like a fragment of the very stone Thorin no doubt still had hidden within his great coat. His heart was beating up a storm, the deal was done, it had worked. The only question that remained now was whether it would do as he asked and keep Thorin safe in the upcoming battle. Maybe, maybe he needed to make sure the king wore it just to be on the safe side.

The next day Thorin and the rest of the company strode out in the most garish armour Bilbo had ever seen to meet the Orc/Goblin army head on alongside his second cousin Daín, wearing Bilbo’s now glowing necklace under his breastplate. He had accepted it the previous night with the most brilliant smile Bilbo had ever seen him make and he had blushed and stammered accordingly though the attempts to take advantage of his good mood and get him to leave the room for a little while were still thwarted. Thankfully they’d at least managed to agree to not battle anyone else until the creatures were dealt with. Bilbo hoped that by then they’d see reason and not want to. When the horns were blared and voices shouted the beginning of the battle, Bilbo slipped on his nifty little ring and set to keeping himself alive in the oncoming flurry. It didn’t take long for him to lose track of everyone, seeing nothing but unfamiliar dwarven faces and a literal forest of legs it was impossible not to bump into people. No one noticed, too preoccupied with fending off their latest foe to care about a single bump of a soft body as opposed to a blade. He tried to keep to the side lines, making sure to stay in the less populated and not so Orc infested areas. He particularly wanted to stay away from the goblins, remembering how deceptively agile and strong they were. All the while he would look around for that ridiculous mithril patterned breastplate Thorin had chosen to wear to the occasion. The one glance he finally got of him showed that the king had long since shrugged it off, perhaps for greatened speed, and now sported the mail shirt he was so familiar with, the necklace shining like a beacon. That last part was perhaps not so good and dread punched him in the gut. He may have, he thought, as another slew of goblins threated to overtake the dwarf entirely, doomed him in all his effort to keep him safe. The thought was not allowed to fester for very long as he was taken away by the current of the crowd and lost sight of Thorin.

* * *

 

He woke with a start, pushing himself up and groaning through the pounding in his head, and the numerous other nicks and scratches he’d gotten in the forest of swords and axes and the rain of arrows but his head was the more prominent one. The battlefield was silent and the sun high in the sky, bodies littered the ground clad in coloured fabrics and armour, saturated with blood. It looked like a mockery of the blooming fields of summer and wasn’t that a grim thought. He pulled the ring off, satisfied that the threat, and the battle, was over and made his way to the base of the mountain were he knew Daín had set up tents for his army. Stumbling into the camp he was pleased to see a lot of dwarves had survived and it was teeming with activity. It didn’t take long for someone to take notice of him, and his blood caked skull, and direct him towards one of the healing tents. Once cleaned the healer prodded at the wound, which smarted and throbbed, and declared he would not need bandages to which Bilbo could only nod, leave it to those who needed it more. As he made to leave Gandalf appeared at the tent flap and his solemn expression made Bilbo’s stomach drop out from under him. The necklace hadn’t worked, his wish hadn’t been granted, Thorin lay dying what was he going to do? Tears burned at the back of his eyes as he was guided to a smaller, more private tent near the back of camp; nestled in close to the mountainside. As he entered he was assaulted by the pungent smell of herbs and blood. On a cot donned with furs lay Thorin, his bandaged chest heaving with the exertion of taking breath. Blood already soaking through the rags from what looked like a deep gash from chest to shoulder and a stab wound to the abdomen. With a sob he settled on a stool by the cot and did not even notice Gandalf’s departure with a low promise of privacy. Thorin was awake, barely, and as he lifted his hand towards him Bilbo took it and kissed the knuckles. For a moment, none spoke, Bilbo too caught up in his own laments to even look at him properly. It didn’t work it didn’t work it didn’t work, then Thorin slipped his hand out of his grip and Bilbo looked up in panic to find him rummaging after something to his left. When he opened his hand, in the palm laid the necklace, stone shining bright as ever and Bilbo did not know whether to laugh or cry. “I wanted you to know I still have it for it was a fine gift, Givashel, wherever did you come across such a gem?” Bilbo shook his head and snivelled a little “I got it from my mother, an heirloom, can’t say where her ancestors got it from though.” As they spoke the gem flickered. Thorin blinked and trained his tired eyes on it, his vision must be failing, Bilbo thought. “...did it just, I thought, but it’s not important. Bilbo listen to me” He grabbed his hand again but listened to Thorin’s final farewell with only half an ear for his thoughts lay mostly with the gem that, after its initial flicker began to dim. What it would mean he could not yet say but he hoped.

After Thorin had said his and Bilbo had forgiven him his trespasses while under the heavy hand of the sickness he reached out to stroke his bearded cheek and said with a smile “but I think you’re going to live, my king” even as Thorin’s lips twitched in rueful contradiction and his eyes slipped shut. Now free to turn all his attention to the slowlyy dimming gem Bilbo gently pried it from his weakened fingers and studied it like a keen enough eye would reveal its secrets to him. It did not. An apologetic Gandalf strode in and announced a healer to check the situation. Bilbo quickly hid the gem much as he had the ring on several occasions. After a quick glance over the dwarf’s unconscious form he added “so he yet lives?” to which Bilbo answered with a shrug “it seems so.” Gandalf peered at him with those far reaching eyes until the healer finished changing the bandages and they left the tent together, leaving Bilbo once more to his quiet contemplation of the gem.

 

The sun had set some time ago without his notice and it was well past midnight before Bilbo noticed how tired he was. Strange, considering he had not been idle during the battle and his strength should have sapped much sooner and he should by all means have been ready to drop as soon as the adrenaline of walking into camp wore off. This was not the case. He looked at the gem once more, and then to Thorin’s bandages, still clean despite it being hours since they were applied. Then back to his hand, holding the gem. Realization dawned on him like the sun soon would and he chanced unravelling the wrapping a little bit to make sure and indeed the wounds on Thorin’s body appeared to have been healed to an angry pink already. He breathed a sigh of relief and rested his head on the sturdy chest before him. At least for a little while before realizing it would look strange that he was the one holding the necklace, so he gently put it back into his lovers grip and settled down on the edge of the cot to rest.

* * *

 

The sun rose over the edge of the lonely mountain and Thorin’s eyes opened to a silent tent. A quick check revealed that he was still holding the gift but when he opened his fist to look at it, it was dark and dim as moonless night as opposed to the tiny star it had been yesterday. Alarmed he shook his burglars shoulder to ask him how this could be but the hobbit did not wake. Voice wavering he called his name and tried again, still he would not wake. With a shaking hand he checked for a pulse and finally, he called for a healer.

Not even Oín could say why the hobbit had suddenly passed in the night all he could say was that head injuries were tricky and the healer who had checked the first time might’ve missed something, it was impossible to say without an autopsy and that Thorin would not allow. Gandalf was the one to inform them of hobbits turning into earth rather than stone, as dwarves do and as such he should be buried in it. The company, in various stages and states of grief could do nothing but agree.


	2. Pygmalion

Bilbo was buried with flowers and the necklace Thorin could not bear to keep on the east side of the mountain, to greet the sun.

* * *

Two years afterwards the King under the mountain had cried until no tears were left to shed. That silent morning he did not sit upon his throne with clenched jaw but eked out a place for himself in the lower halls and set to work fervently. Though he did not shirk his duties all time he could spare was now dedicated to this one task. Balin and Dwalin followed him closely, it was change and they hoped he would finally mourn as they all had. They followed him as he adamantly searched for a stone slab of an exact shade and size and saw through the passage of months how he carved it into a statue.

Thorin had never had any skill in making statues they knew, he had always been a smith when he was not a prince and king but in this one task he would not bend and without help or words he slowly worked out a likeness from the stone. A likeness of the hobbit. His smooth round cheeks, the odd point to his ears, even every single curl was meticulously carved until finally, six months of long hours and hard work, Thorin took a step back and once again laid eyes upon his Bilbo. His heart clenched for the life that would always be missing fom the image before him even as he caressed the stone cheek and imagined it to be the soft flesh he remembered. It was a poor substitute but it calmed his aching heart by a measure and it was enough, it had to be.

The statue was so beatifully done whispers started of the king having been blessed by mahal himself to honour the saviour of erebor such. If anyone thought it strange that such exquisite work was not displayed in the main hall with a memorial plaque speaking of the strange creature's feats and instead never left the kings workroom where it had been created, no one dared mention such a thing. Instead they took to sneaking glances of it when the king was not present and perhaps it only added to its popularity, that it was so unavailable.

* * *

Some nights Thorin would visit his Bilbo and speak, mostly of nothing in particular, how his day at court had been, how lord such-and-such was a major pain in his arse. Other times of more personal subjects, like remembering that one time Kili had emptied a waterskin on him and he would chuckle a little by himself before the pressing silence made the smile fade again. He would always end such nights with squeezing cold fingers that did not bend and curl around his own as real fingers do and a wish in the back of his throat he dare not speak out loud.

It was just such a night when Thorin had finished speaking to him and felt he had no more words to say, there always formed a lump in his throat after a while that stopped his voice, he found himself holding the hobbit's hand, unwilling to let go. The mere thought of it seemed unfathomable all of a sudden and he began to shake. A sob broke through the lump and tears he long thought he had finished with spilled down his cheeks. "Mahal" he cried, clutching the hand harder Letting go of the hand he wrapped his arms around the all too stiff torso while gasping for breath "please, please. Bilbo. I miss you I beg of you please, azyungal, come back to me I cannot...I" he scraped for purchase where he could find none, always afraid of breaking the fine stone and undoing "I cannot bear being without you. I was not there for you final breath... there should never have _been_ a final breath I should have always kept you _safe_." His breath hitched and he pressed his forehead against the statue, nose resting in that perfect nook between brow and cheek and he choked out a wet sound, roaming fingers coming to rest at the back of his skull and in the small of his back "ghivashuh, azyunguh, Bilbo. Mahal please bring him back to me."

He pressed a small kiss to the false plumpness of the statues lips "please" another " _please_ " another, more fervent though he knew for all his wishing the dead do not come back. Still his heart ached, if possible, even more than it did that first day and he did not understand how his sister could ever have risen from this pain. He had lost too much, he could bear no more.

Still as they always do the tears died down and his breath returned, though the weight in his chest that still felt like a hollow remained. Slowly he let go of the stone frame and stepped back, caressing the hand of his hobbit once more before bidding him goodnight and he trudged on, as he always did.

* * *

 

Every day he visited after that he made a new habit of holding Bilbo's hand throughout the talk, and kissing his lips both hello and goodbye, like they were the lovers he hoped they could have been. Some days the sorrow would overflow again and once more he would beg and plead while peppering kisses all over the hobbits face. It would happen so often he feared evetually he would wear even the sturdy material he had made sure to pick down. Other days he had not the time to visit at all.

His nephews worried, his sister worried, the company worried why half the mountain was worried about the king and his lack of spirit though most knew this sickness to be of another kind than that which had plagued the previous king. Thorin did not much care, let them be worried, he still fulfilled his duties to the kindom, did not neglect his relations and kept himself healthy in body for he knew it would be no good to do otherwise. Of course, he knew he was absent but in that he could not change. The loss added a dullness to all things that made his smiles half smiles and his laughs chuckles, whenever they rarely came.

* * *

 

Four years and three months after the death of Bilbo Thorin felt like he had regained some sense of normalcy, even in his breakdowns he was consistent and life, though it was half a life, still moved on. So when he kissed the lips of the statue farewell for the night and found a pair of perfectly soft lips kissing back it was no wonder he blinked and said "Mahals forges I must've finally gone mad with grief, though I am thankful if this is what it brings me" touching the healthy pink skin of the hobbits cheeks. To which Bilbo said "no, it just appears that prayers are indeed answered" and once again Thorin's tears flowed for all the years he hadn't tried to hold them back, but this time they were of joy.


End file.
